“Rise,” he said at length, “and know, niece, that you have played your part in a fashion worthy of my race, and that I, Salah-ed-din, am proud of you. Know also that I will weigh your prayer as I have weighed that of none other who breathes upon the earth. Now I must take counsel with my own heart, and to-morrow it shall be granted—or refused. To you, who are doomed to die, and to the knight who chooses to die with you, according to the ancient law and custom, I offer the choice of Islam, and with it life and honour.” “We refuse,” answered Rosamund and Wulf with one voice. The Sultan bowed his head as though he expected no other answer, and glanced round, as all thought to order the executioners to do their office. But he said only to a captain of his Mameluks: “Take them; keep them under guard and separate them, till my word of death comes to you. Your life shall answer for their safety. Give them food and drink, and let no harm touch them until I bid you.” The Mameluk bowed and advanced with his company of soldiers. As they prepared to go with them, Rosamund asked: “Tell me of your grace, what of Masouda, my friend?” “She died for you; seek her beyond the grave,” answered Saladin, whereat Rosamund hid her face with her hands and sighed. “And what of Godwin, my brother?” cried Wulf; but no answer was given him. Now Rosamund turned; stretching out her arms towards Wulf, she fell upon his breast. There, then, in the presence of that countless army, they kissed their kiss of betrothal and farewell. They spoke no word, only ere she went Rosamund lifted her hand and pointed upwards to the sky. Then a murmur rose from the multitude, and the sound of it seemed to shape itself into one word: “Mercy!” Still Saladin made no sign, and they were led away to their prisons. Among the thousands who watched this strange and most thrilling scene were two men wrapped in long cloaks, Godwin and the bishop Egbert. Thrice did Godwin strive to approach the throne. But it seemed that the soldiers about him had their commands, for they would not suffer him to stir or speak; and when, as Rosamund passed, he strove to break a way to her, they seized and held him. Yet as she went by he cried: “The blessing of Heaven be upon you, pure saint of God—on you and your true knight.” Catching the tones of that voice above the tumult, Rosamund stopped and looked around her, but saw no one, for the guard hemmed her in. So she went on, wondering if perchance it was Godwin’s voice which she had heard, or whether an angel, or only some Frankish prisoner had spoken. Godwin stood wringing his hands while the bishop strove to comfort him, saying that he should not grieve, since such deaths as those of Rosamund and Wulf were most glorious, and more to be desired than a hundred lives. “Ay, ay,” answered Godwin, “would that I could go with them!”